


support it with love

by tsunderestorm



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 03:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8430307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsunderestorm/pseuds/tsunderestorm
Summary: In order to right the wrongs against magic users by his father, Arthur is betrothed to royalty from Avalon, expecting a princess. He wasn't expecting Merlin. No one was, really; least of all Arthur's most trusted knight: Lancelot.Or, the story of how Merlin, Arthur and Lancelot fell in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ok, so I'm sure the "merlin is a prince" AU has been done one thousand times over but I just _had_ to.
> 
> Lancelot's value/name thing (i.e: courage, magic, strength) is love because I feel that it fits him the most. Love is, to me, the most crucial part of his character and personality.
> 
> For what it's worth, this is the first fic over 12k that I've ever written and I'm really proud of myself.

He was roused out of bed with a rough hand at his shoulder and an uneasy edge to a familiar voice. “Sire,” Leon hissed, like there was someone listening. Like he was nervous. “Sire, you must wake up. There’s someone to see you.”

Arthur looked out his window at the sky outside: pitch-black and still spitting rain from fat, heavy clouds that had hovered over the kingdom for days now. They matched his mood, grey and grim with no silver lining. The sky was echoing his pain, he imagined, crying as the kingdom had cried when it had lost his king. When he’d lost his father. He’d stopped crying days before, started holding them back around the time Geoffrey had set the crown on his head and he’d sworn to uphold the laws and customs of the land, to cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in his actions, to rule as _king_ rather than just crown prince.

“Sire, he says it’s urgent,” Leon urged, catching Arthur in the middle of his thoughts trailing off. He stumbled out of bed and pulled on his boots and tunic. Casually dressed, he made for the door but thought better of it - he did not share all his father’s views, but he could imagine what he might say in a situation like this. _You are the king_ , Uther Pendragon would say if he could see him; dress _yourself as such and conduct yourself with dignity, even in the dead of the night._ Shaking his head to clear it he walked to the wardrobe and grabbed a jacket to shrug on over his tunic and fastened his sword at his side. The weight of it was a familiar comfort, the jacket a welcome addition as he walked through the halls chilled by the dark and dampness of the storm.

The messenger in the great hall was wearing a cloak caked in dirt, but somehow dry. No water pooled on the floor around him, and the hood shrouding his head was not weighed down with damp. He stood unmoving, staring at a portrait Arthur had long-since memorized the story of, one of Uther taming the Great Dragon. When Arthur walked into view, slowly the man turned and Arthur was struck by such a presence that it felt like the wind was being knocked out of him. Suffocating, chilling his bones even further than the air itself. _This man had magic_ , and Arthur couldn’t push back the knee-jerk reaction of _this is it, this is where I die for what my father did_.

“Arthur Pendragon,” the messenger said in a low voice, croaky and broken. “Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot. You must fix what your father has broken. You must right the wrongs he has wrought, you must recreate what has been destroyed.”

“I don’t-” Arthur said, shaking his head. Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, wondering if this was still a dream. “I don’t understand. My father purged this kingdom of sorcerers who meant it ill. What is wrong about that?”

The mysterious man shook his head side to side gravely. “Magic belongs in Camelot.”

Arthur felt his blood run cold. Magic? In Camelot? Everything his father had fought against, let back in? Surely there was no way he could open the gates and extend open arms after all that he had seen magic do, after all that he had known it to hurt.

“I can’t--”

“In one week’s time,” the messenger interrupted, voice louder than conversational for the first time. He extended his hand and a scroll materialized in his outstretched palm, stark white against dark skin. Arthur lifted his chin and stepped forward, half expecting his hand to pass through it as if through cool fog but instead his fingers found smooth vellum atop warm skin. As he took it, the hooded figure said “You will meet with the Ancients in Avalon. When you are ready, send this scroll to the skies and it will show you the way to the Isle.”

As Arthur unfurled the scroll he read it quickly, scanning the several lines of text in a short amount of time. _That which has been wronged will be righted. That which has been banished will be welcomed. That which has been separated will be rejoined like never. That which has been carved in stone since the times of the Ancients will come to fruition. Camelot and Avalon joined by their two greatest._

“Their two greatest? What does that-” Arthur asked as he finished reading the words, but when he raised his head the messenger was gone. “Mean…”

With the scroll tucked safe in his pocket and the great hall empty and silent, dark except for the occasional flash of lightning pushing through the windowpanes he opened the door enough to sneak through, determined to go back to his chambers. A few more hours of sleep sounded divine, but then again, given the night’s strange events he doubted if he’d be able to fall back asleep. Leon approached him the minute he opened the door, looking over his head as if he was looking for the messenger.

“It’s no use, he’s gone.” Arthur said as he pushed the door shut. “Undoubtedly magic.”

“I’m sorry for troubling you, sire,” Leon started only to trail off when Arthur raised a hand to tell him there was no problem. “He said it was of the utmost importance that he speak with you immediately. What did he have to say?”

Arthur briefly entertained the idea of not sharing the conversation with him. Not relaying it would make it easier to ignore as the ramblings of a madman, whereas discussing it with Leon would give credit to it. Weight. Leon was his dearest friend, his first and oldest lover, the knight whose counsel he valued above all else’s but this...this was bizarre. In the end, he opted for the truth.

“He said that I needed to fix what my father did.” Arthur answered slowly, heavily. Choosing his words carefully, as if even now Uther could be around the corner in the next hallway, ready to ask him _do you disagree with what I’m doing, Arthur?_ Ready to say _Speak up, boy_ , in a way that Arthur had quickly learned meant _keep quiet_. “That Camelot and Avalon are to join.”

Leon stopped walking so quickly that Arthur managed a step or two past him before Leon’s arm was heavy on his shoulder. Jerking him back, disbelieving. “Avalon?” he asked, eyes darting from Arthur’s face to the end of the hallway before lowering his voice. “Avalon, the island of magic?”

“The very same,” Arthur answered. “Leon, I would like to help atone for what my father did to those that were innocent during the Purge. I see no reason not to go.”

Leon leaned down until his lips were inches from Arthur’s, until they were breathing each other’s breath. “You know I support you in every endeavor you choose to undertake,” he said, prefacing what Arthur knew by now would be a disagreement. “But what if this is a trap? There have been many before who wished to punish you for things you have not done.”

Arthur sighed, because Leon was right. It could be a trap, and one that he had been willing to damn near walk right into. There could be mercenaries waiting at any point along the path he’d follow, could be someone waiting at the destination, enchanted. Someone who steel and sinew alone could not best. Still, it was worth a chance.

“I appreciate your concern, but I feel this is something I must do. Alert a servant to ready my things,” Arthur said, completely disregarding Leon’s caution. “I’ll ride in the morning.”

The first thought Arthur had was that Avalon was the most beautiful place he’d ever seen. The lake was still despite the gentle wind that lifted hair off his neck, a sea breeze that whispered damp kisses against his nape as it flitted past him, filtering through the forest’s branches. The second thought that came to his mind was that _he didn’t belong_. This was a place of magic, and he could imagine the way his father would dismiss it if he were still alive. _Burn it to the ground,_ he’d say about the forest he’d passed through to make it here. _Kill them all_ , _every man, woman and child. They are magic, and they are guilty._

But Arthur was not his father, and despite a lifetime of _magic is evil_ beaten into his skull he was determined to give this a chance. He knew full well there were people in Camelot who practiced magic, those with ancestors killed in the Purge who’d taken their art underground, who hid their gifts day in and day out Those people, those innocent people, he wanted to do right by. For years, that had been one of the things he’d sworn to do as king. Aside from that, he’d admit that all this talk of _balance_ had him a little spooked. He tied his horse to a tree at the edge of the lake and looked around, expecting some sort of guide, looking for the bird the messenger’s scroll had transformed into right above his palm when he’d released it. There was nothing; no sign, no guide, no indication for what he should do next. The wind filtered through the trees grown thick around him with an eerie sound, lifting leaves bigger than his head away from where they had obscured a small boat.

Well, he thought as he situated himself in the boat with knees hugged to his chest and sword tucked between his feet, here goes nothing. He heard voices before he saw anyone, voices fading in and out through the swirling mists. _Arthur Pendragon_ , they whispered, and it was like they were inside of his skull. _King Arthur, the Once and Future King_.

“I am here to meet with the Ancients.” he announced to no one, to everyone. To the forest at his back and the misty, fog-obscured island leagues ahead of him across the water. To himself, if he still had any lingering doubts.

 _We know_ , the voice said, echoing in his mind. _We know what you have been, we know who you are, and we know that which you will become. We know what you are here to do._

“I don’t understand,” Arthur said. He felt like he was repeating that a lot recently, both with this magic business and without it. He understood nothing. “What am I to become?”

 _You are to be the greatest king the world has ever known,_ was the answer. _Albion is to be the greatest kingdom with you at the head of it, but you cannot build it alone_. _You will build it with magic. You will support it with love._

Arthur looked around, squinting his eyes in a desperate attempt to see through the thick fog. “Who am I to build it with?”

Suddenly, a sound like one dozen, one hundred, one thousand voices speaking softly, gently filled his head. _You have yet to meet the one you need. Do not worry, Avalon and Camelot will join. Clasped hands, joined hearts._

“A marriage, then?’ Arthur asked. It certainly sounded like a marriage. Clasped hands, joined hearts, all of that. It sounded like vows, simple enough. Vows, he could take. “A magic ceremony?”

As if they read his thoughts, he got an answer. _Deeper than that,_ a voice clarified, separate from the rest. _More meaningful than that._

“Some _one_ magic, then?”

_Of course._

“How can I bring magic into a kingdom whose people have lived in fear of it for decades?” Arthur asked, desperate for advice. Like a lost child clinging to a parent’s hand, scared and afraid. “How can I tell them my father was wrong, when I’m not even sure myself if he was wrong.”

 _You tell them just that. Uther Pendragon was a tyrant, and he was_ wrong _. Together with your destiny, you will show them. That is your life’s work. More important than any kingmaking quest, more impactful than any war campaign or promised journey._

“It won’t be easy,” Arthur said.

 _One’s destiny is not always easy. But it is something that simply_ is _, and that cannot be denied._

“I’m not denying it.” Arthur huffed.

_You’ve no choice, Arthur Pendragon. Go. Go and wait in Camelot, courageous as you are. Wait with love and wait for magic._

“Wait!” Arthur said, standing up in the boat, holding his arms out to steady himself as he looked around frantically, but the voices were gone. The air was clear of mists, the island he’d seen in the middle of the lake long gone. The echo gone from his head, his boat back at the shore he’d left from.

At least they’d called him courageous. And he was to wait for magic, and he was to love it. _Her_. His bride to be. That much, surely he could try to do.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sire,” Leon hissed, elbowing Arthur right between the ribs and knocking him off-balance. Furious, Arthur turned on his heel ready to demand what he was thinking. He was met only with his knight’s jaw hanging open, arm outstretched to point at the archway of the courtyard, where a figure draped in shimmering silks was sitting atop a horse.

“He,” Leon said with a quiet whistle that could have put Gwaine to shame, “has _got_ to be from Avalon.”

Avalon. The far-off land that Arthur had heard only in legends before he’d visited it a few weeks ago, the name he’d heard whispered in the last dying breaths of men he’d felled on the battlefield. Avalon, land of mists and magic; Avalon, where his bride-to-be was to hail from. This person, this man must be her servant, or perhaps another messenger, beautiful though he was. His skin was perfect and unblemished, his lips a splash of soft pink against stark white, the chilled air dusting his cheeks a flush red. When he tipped his head back to take in the sight of the castle’s tall turrets and towering walls his hood fell back, filmy fabric collecting on his narrow shoulders and Arthur’s sword fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He was _ethereal_. Arthur saw that he was wearing a circlet on his brow; a twining bit of molded metal with sapphires and rubies meeting in a teardrop shape in the middle of his forehead. _Strange_ , he thought, _that a servant should come so richly dressed_.

“There’s absolutely no way that he’s from anywhere else.” Arthur said as he held out his hand to take the sword Leon had retrieved from the ground.

Arthur watched as one of his advisors descended the castle steps to meet the man and couldn’t help but read his body language as they spoke, imagining what they were saying even though he was too far away for the words to reach him. The man’s posture was easy, relaxed, his face splitting into a smile that Arthur could see clear across the courtyard as he said something. As expected, it was only a matter of time before his advisor began the walk towards him, leading the Avalonian guest’s horse behind him. The man reached to brush the horse’s hair out of its eyes, leaned forward to nuzzle into its neck before looking around again, wonder and awe evident in every feature of his face.

When they got close enough, he dismounted in a flurry of colorful robes and announced “I’m here to see King Arthur.” Arthur nodded his advisor away, burying the sharp point of the sword in soft earth to keep it safe.

“You’re looking at him,” he said, quietly appraising the stranger’s form. Tall, thin, just a wisp of a thing, and maybe even younger than he had originally placed him. It was a good thing, Arthur thought, that he was undoubtedly magical because it wouldn’t take much to best him in a fight. “And you, I presume, are from Avalon?”

Arthur swore he saw the faintest hint of a blush flush across the man’s cheekbones, a coloring to his skin that had nothing to do with the autumn air. “Yes, from Avalon. But I’m to live here now, I’m told.” Then, like he’d only just remembered he had it, he pulled a sealed letter from his robes and handed it to him. “I’m to give you this.”

So this was his bride-to-be’s servant, then. Arthur slipped the letter into his shirt beneath his mail, deciding to read it later. “Very well, then. Welcome to Camelot. Tell me, when will your mistress be joining us?”

“I’m sorry?” the stranger asked over his shoulder as he held out a handful of oats to let the horse eat from his palm.

“Your mistress,” Arthur repeated, put off by his confusion. Who the hell else would he be talking about?

“No mistress. It’s only me.”

“Your sister, then?” There was an edge to Arthur’s voice, a sharpness honed by confusion.

“I have no sister,” the stranger said, tugging his sleeves down over his hands. “I’m...well, I’m honestly what you get.”

Arthur heard Leon inhale sharply behind him, damnably realizing what was happening the second before he did, and Arthur pulled the letter from his shirt and ripped it open, breaking the wax carelessly. _Magic has arrived_ , it read. _Take care of him._

“ _You?_ ” Arthur asked, and he couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled up out of his throat. Cruel, angry laughter that matched the frustrated tears that pricked hotly at the corners of his vision. “You. I agree to join with Avalon, and they send me _you_?”

The stranger’s wide smile fell entirely from his face and, had Arthur not been so furious, he may have felt guilty for that. “Is that a problem?” he asked coldly, his voice lower than it had been, less playful. Like winter rather than spring.

“Of course it’s a problem. I can’t marry a man. Camelot needs a king and a queen, not a king and...whatever the hell you’d be.”

From behind him, Leon cautioned gently with a hand on his arm “Sire...remember, you must restore balance…”

Arthur put up a hand to silence him. “I need a princess, not some _boy_. You know that as well as I do, Leon.”

“I’m a prince,” the stranger said. “Prince Merlin.”

“ _Merlin_. You’re useless to me,” Arthur spat. “Why would they send me a man, knowing our customs and knowing that Camelot will eventually need heirs?”

“Arthur, I - “

“Leave me.” Arthur said as he turned his back, crossing his arms over his chest and fighting the urge to scream. To yell, to grab the stranger he’d originally thought so beautiful and shake him, demand _what in the hell Avalon was thinking_. To threaten that they’d be sorry they made a fool out of Arthur Pendragon.

“They told me you’d be difficult, given your parentage,” Merlin said, untying a bag from his horse. His motions were jerky and angry, and Arthur could hear every buckle being undone and each tie as it dragged against the other. Pointed movements. “But I didn’t know you’d be such an absolute _ass_.”

With that, he took off across the courtyard towards the castle.

\---

Merlin fled the situation faster than his legs had ever carried him before, moving across the courtyard so fast his robe threatened to catch around his legs. The bag he was carrying had his most important possessions, light as feather before but suddenly leaden now. _No_ , he begged as his robe caught beneath his boot and he felt his steps falter. _Don’t let me stumble in front of the King_ , _not after he was such an ass._  But stumble he did; with his long legs shaky as a newborn deer, too long for his body and down he tumbled. Just as the heavy-hewn stone steps of the castle were rushing up to meet him a pair of arms caught him securely, accompanied by a gentle voice. “Easy, there.”

When the adrenaline had finished rushing through his blood and he’d regained some sense basic of reality, he looked up at the sincerest man he’d ever seen: warm eyes, dark like the bark of the oldest and wisest trees in Avalon’s woods, a soft mouth set in a handsome face, brows furrowed in genuine concern.

“Where are you running off to, has someone hurt you?” the man asked, hand moving to the hilt of the sword at his hip before Merlin could even speak. Slowly, he shook his head. This was a knight, he knew. He could tell from the gleaming mail and the heavy cape emblazoned with the Pendragon crest, a gleaming gold dragon against scarlet.

“No one hurt me, I’m alright. I’ve just found Camelot to be not nearly as welcoming as I’d hoped.” Bitterly, he added “Not that I’d hoped for much.”

The knight stood back, smoothing Merlin’s cloak down over his arms. _Funny_ , Merlin thought, he hadn’t noticed how much of a chill there was in the air until the warmth from the knight’s hands was soaking into his goosebump prickled arms. The man surveyed him for a few moments, like he was judging whether he was telling the truth and then asked “Are you from Avalon?”

“Is it that obvious?” Merlin asked with a laugh, trying to cover up the fact that he was suddenly nervous. He should have worn something simpler, worn the pants and tunic he’d wanted rather than the lavish robes they’d instructed him to. He knelt to pick up his pack, grateful that nothing had spilled out of it, that he hadn’t had to share why he carried the things he did before King Arthur and any of his court who were undoubtedly just like him.

“It’s not how you look, really. I’ve seen ladies in Camelot wear fabrics as fine as this.” Merlin breathed a sigh of relief and watched as the knight pinched a fold of fabric between his fingers, thumb rubbing along the silver stitching. “It’s more...something about you. If you won’t think I’m foolish, it’s something in the air surrounding you.”

Merlin shouldered his bag more securely and cocked his head to the side. “The air?”

“Do you know how it feels when a storm is coming? When you can sense how the ground is desperate for it and it smells a certain way? How the hair on the back of your neck stands up and your skin feels warm and…”

“A bit itchy?” Merlin offered and the knight’s serious face broke into a smile.

“Yes, a bit itchy. Fair stranger, you make me itchy. That’s not what I was getting at, but I’ll take it.”

Merlin let out the first real, honest laugh since leaving his misty island home. Going along with it, he teased “Well, sir knight, now that I have made you itchy, perhaps I should take my leave!”

Playfully, the knight bowed to him and Merlin covered his mouth with his hand to hold in the short burst of laughter. He didn’t feel as much like he was going to cry any longer, but still he ached to be alone. Moving to walk past him, Merlin murmured a soft _excuse me_ but the knight caught him by the arm. “Please,” he begged. “Tell me your name.”

“Prince Em-” Merlin started, realizing too soon that he’d almost given out his real name, his _magic_ name. The name that could give a man power, the name that his mother had instructed him never to give freely. It was either dangerous or beautiful, he thought, how much he felt that he could trust this man. “Prince Merlin, of Avalon.”

“Prince Merlin…” the knight said, tasting the name on his tongue, caressing it, like he was testing how it sounded from his own lips. A sound Merlin decided swiftly that he could grow accustomed to.

“And yours?”

“Lancelot,” he answered, releasing his hold on Merlin’s arm, fingers gentle against the ticklish inside of his elbow making him huff out a breath to avoid laughing.

“Lancelot,” Merlin said with a gentle dip of his head. “I only wish your king had been as kind as you, Sir Lancelot. I hope to see more of you.”

 _Lancelot_ , Merlin thought as he followed the servant who’d been sent out of the castle for him to the rooms that were to be his, barely listening as he chattered on about this or that. Sir Lancelot was everything he’d hoped Arthur would be; handsome and kind, noble and caring.

\---

Lancelot couldn’t get Merlin out of his mind and he felt nothing but guilt for it. Surely it was hardly true treason to find his king’s soon-to-be betrothed _beautiful_ , but it was certainly treason to find oneself distracted with thoughts such as these, thoughts of how smooth a prince’s skin was beneath the silks his thin arms were covered in, how soft his hair would feel beneath fingertips and the way his lips might taste if he dared to lick along them. He was no stranger to these thoughts, had them daily about Arthur and he was convinced it was treason too.

“-a _man_ ,” Arthur repeated for about the fifteenth time since convening his closest knights around their table. “They send me a _man_.”

“It’s not as if you aren’t attracted,” Leon offered and was met with a scathing glare from the king, one that he withered under with a quiet clearing of his throat. “Just...trying to find a silver lining, sire.”

“That’s hardly the point, Leon,” Arthur sighed as he sat down in his chair, sinking low and sliding his sword belt defeatedly across the table. “I just feel... _stupid_. They never said man or woman, in their negotiations, you know.”

They sat in silence, the sound of metal on whetstone as Percival polished his sword the only sound for a few long moments.

“By the Avalon agreement, I have no choice,” Arthur said. “I must marry this prince Merlin, and together we are to right the wrongs that my father committed against his kind.”

 _So strong his resolve_ , Lancelot thought, _and how blessed their lives, that he may put a ring on the finger of one so beautiful as Merlin_ _and that Merlin may love him as he deserves in turn._

Right to business, Leon suggested “Someone should show him around the castle. Get him accustomed to Camelot, get him used to how things work so he isn’t like a gape-mouthed, wide-eyed fool when Arthur comes back from his treaty talks.”

Percival stood up from his seat. “I could do that.”

Arthur shook his head and waved him down. “No, that won’t do. You don’t know the castle nearly as well as others, and you’re not talkative enough besides. He seems talkative.”

Leon laughed. “It’s a pity Gwaine is on a quest, then.”

Arthur shook his head again, confusing Lancelot as he watched him carefully. “No, Gwaine is _too_ talkative, and far too flirtatious. You saw this prince, Leon. He may not be everyone’s type, but he's beautiful. Gwaine would make a fool out of all of us if we left him alone even for a moment with Merlin.”

“Someone good at conversation, then, but someone who knows when to be quiet and listen.” Elyan offered, and Lancelot nodded his agreement.

Lancelot felt four pairs of eyes descend on him all at once and his heart felt like it was hammering the beat of a war drum against the inside of his ribcage. “Me?” he asked, and the way Arthur’s eyes were pleading with him confirmed it. Slowly, he rose out of his seat and placed a hand over his heart. “It would be an honor to escort your betrothed around the castle.”

Arthur looked relieved as Lancelot lowered his hand and sat down in the high-backed seat. He felt incredibly pleased with himself for making Arthur happy; his heart filled with the most peculiar elation and guilt at his own motives all at once. Quietly, Arthur reached the few inches across the edge of the table and set his hand atop Lancelot’s for the briefest of seconds as he whispered “That is why you are so dear to me, Lancelot.”


	3. Chapter 3

Lancelot spent extra time dressing the morning after Merlin’s arrival. Carefully, he selected a red tunic and black breeches that complimented each other nicely; tugged on his best pair of leather boots – the ones that weren’t worn soft at the creases from having his feet in the stirrups for days, that weren’t scuffed from walking. He tidied up his beard with a freshly sharpened knife, trimmed it close to his face the way he preferred to wear it, the way Arthur had once said made him look handsome. Altruistically, he told himself it was for Arthur. So that Arthur looked good; so the Avalonian Prince thought nothing but the best of Camelot.

Selfishly, it was in the hopes that Prince Merlin might find him handsome. He’d never thought much of himself, truly, at least beyond his skill as a swordsman that he’d made his living off before Arthur had knighted him. He had a good sense of right and wrong and a hand that fit well around a sword - those were things he prided himself on, not how handsome his face was or how desirable a lover might find his body. He’d dreamed of love more than once, sure – stupidly romantic, men had told him when all they’d wanted to talk about was where to get their cocks wet and nothing more beyond that. But the way the Prince had looked at him the day before, the way he’d felt those piercing blue eyes move up and down the length of his body like a lover’s touch had him walking on air.

Prince Merlin looking at him made his skin heat in the same way it did when Arthur looked at him too long, made his stomach flutter and heart swell and selfishly, he wanted more of it.

He knocked on Merlin’s door softly. Patient, undemanding. “Prince Merlin?” he asked. “Your Highness? It’s Lancelot, from yesterday. I’m to show you around the castle.”

The door opened in a rush and Lancelot was met with the (charming) sight of Merlin half-dressed, lines from blanket creases still pressed into his cheek and hair sticking up at odd angles. “Lancelot!” he exclaimed. “I was hoping to see you again, but I didn’t know it would be so soon!”

Lancelot smiled. It was so easy to smile around Merlin. He’d been unhappy for so long, so convinced his life was for nothing until Arthur had gifted him with knighthood and made it easier to believe the sun would one day come out from behind clouds, and Merlin made it easier still. Like his elegant fingers were at the corners of his lips, gentle as they pushed the corners up. He wanted to smile around Merlin, wanted to make him laugh.

“Arthur, that is to say, the King, thought that we might welcome you to Camelot with a tour of the castle,” he said as he stepped into the room, standing beside the bed out of Merlin’s whirlwind path he was making around the room. He was sad to see the way Merlin’s face scrunched up at the mention of Arthur, the way he rolled his eyes as he turned to finish getting dressed, tugging clothes in shades of blue, green, and purple out of the trunk and tossing them aside. He was wearing only trousers and socks and as he bent to retrieve a shirt from one of the trunks he’d arrived with Lancelot could see each knob of his spine, the way the skin stretched over the bone and the small scattering of moles on his back. The dips to the side of his spine, low on his back, the way his hips looked above the waistband. _Exquisite_.

“Not that I’m complaining, but was the Prat King himself too good to visit with me?” Merlin tossed over his shoulder with a playful grin as he apparently found the shirt he was looking for, pulling it from the trunk with a grunt.

“His Majesty is busy with peace talks in an outlying village. He left out this morning.”

“Leaving me in the care of his knight?” Merlin asked, smoothing the tunic as he stepped closer. Lancelot could smell him; the remnants of the castle’s soap from the blankets he’d slept on lingering to his skin, the barest smell of patchouli oil. “He must trust you quite a bit, Sir Lancelot.”

Lancelot swallowed, trying to narrow his focus back to giving Camelot’s new prince a proper tour rather than how soft his skin looked. “He does. I am honored to have that trust.”

“I think I’d be honored to have the trust of a horse over King Arthur’s,” Merlin scoffed. “They’re far more polite. At least they make a noise before they bite your fingers.”

“He is a good man, you know,” Lancelot said. Arthur was his King, his friend, his...well, he hadn’t put words to that yet. What point was there? A knight had no business falling in love with a king. Arthur was everything, and he needed his betrothed to see that. “He’s just under a lot of stress.”

Merlin cocked his head to the side as he sat down on the bed and slipped on soft leather boots. “Does ‘a lot of stress’ make you tell someone that they’re useless to you? Does ‘a lot of stress’ make you sneer like there’s something filthy under your nose? I wonder if ‘a lot of stress’ makes you forget basic respect, Sir Lancelot.”

Lancelot recoiled. Arthur owed him an apology, he knew, but it was an apology that Merlin wasn’t going to get until Arthur returned from peace treaties. He admired Merlin’s spirit, admired the way he kept his head held high, the same reason he admired Gwaine, who was never anything but himself. It was something he himself had never seemed capable of doing. He found it too easy to let his eyes scan the ground and bow his head.

“I don’t mean to yell at you,” Merlin said as he stood up, reaching out to touch his shoulder and the briefest brush of his fingertips made Lancelot’s skin burn. Quietly, he breathed in and out until the feeling of having the wind knocked out of him passed, until Merlin’s hand had trailed back to a scarf he was situating around his neck and he could focus again. “I just wish Arthur had considered that while this is too fast for him, it’s also too fast for me.”

Lancelot knew Arthur hadn’t considered that. “He will be good to you, I know it. He is a good man, with a good sense of right and wrong. He is not his father.”

“Thank the gods for that.” Merlin said as he closed the heavy lid of his trunk and walked out the open door, looking over his shoulder and bidding Lancelot to follow him. And follow him he did, like he had always been good at. Following him like he would follow Arthur, to the ends of the earth and further still. Like he already knew he’d follow Merlin.

‘So,” Merlin asked as Lancelot led him down the long hallway. “Where are you showing me first? I’ve never seen a castle.”

“Are there no castles in Avalon, Your Highness?”

Merlin laughed. “Please, Merlin is fine. There are castles, but they’re old. Crumbling. I think the stone they’re made of is older than life itself and we don’t - we didn’t - really live in them.” He trailed off towards the end, and Lancelot didn’t miss the way he corrected himself to past tense. It was a little sad, he thought, that Merlin would be so unhappy here when they were right on the cusp of something wonderful.

Lancelot stopped and reached out to hold Merlin’s shoulders in what he hoped would come across as a soothing gesture. “Well, then this castle tour shall have to be second to none. Shall we?” He bowed and gestured Merlin ahead of him and teasingly, Merlin mimed a curtsy, hands holding the air as if gripping a skirt.

“We shall!”

Lancelot showed him everything he could think of. The courtyard Merlin had seen, but he hadn’t yet seen it from a perch on the ramparts, when the knights training in the yard were far-away glints in the sun and the servants crossing back and forth on their daily duties were as specks of muted color on the lingering vestiges of green grass.

“Like ants!” Merlin had said, clasping Lancelot’s hand in excitement atop the battlement. “Everything seems so small from up here.”

Lancelot nodded. “That is why I like to come here to think, sometimes. When I am allowed personal time and I’m not on patrol.”

They walked through the empty casemate and Merlin whispered secrets into the vaulted ceilings, giggling when he thought Lancelot might have heard him. He hid behind pillars, darting like a bandit in the night from one to the other and even though Lancelot didn’t watch him, he never lost sight of where he was. It was no surprise when Merlin jumped out to scare him, brandishing an old, dull sword he’d found in some corner and teasing that he was a fearsome invader. Lancelot felt the worries of his life melting away when Merlin laughed, such an infectious sound that was better than any music at a banquet, his smile like the sun. Already he hoped Merlin would stay, for the sake of Arthur and a prophecy he didn’t understand, yes, but also for himself. Merlin made it easy to smile.

He’d been absolutely enchanted by the dovecote, with its smooth rounded walls and its domed ceiling, rows and rows of ash-grey pigeons and snow-white doves cooing excitedly when he opened the door. The smell was unlike any other, staleness and feces and dirty feathers, but it was worth it to see the adorable way Merlin’s nose crinkled and the way he tickled a pigeon resting on a low branch with his little finger.

Lancelot showed him the kitchens, the ice house, and the pantries because Merlin asked and because it was only right that the prince-to-be knew all parts of the castle. The cook wasn’t over-fond of him, rapping him across the knuckles with a ladle when he reached for a meat bun and relenting only when Lancelot cleared his throat and whispered _royal guest_. Merlin didn’t seem the type to enjoy getting people in trouble, but the smug way he stole another meat bun and tucked it in his pocket made Lancelot think that just this once, he might.

He showed him his own rooms (neat, tidy, decorated with what few possessions he had) and with the guard’s permission, he showed him Arthur’s solar with its messy desk. Showed him the room that had been Uther’s, closed and locked and ordered to be left untouched after his death.

When the sun had reached its highest point hours earlier and started to descend, Lancelot was finally satisfied that he’d given Merlin a proper tour and they sat down on the lawn outside, Merlin curling his long legs under him and squeaking out an apology when he accidentally sat on Lancelot’s cape.

“So I’ve seen everything? I suppose next I’ll have to meet every person of importance,” he said, rolling his eyes. “So they can all hate me too.”

“I don’t even know everyone yet,” Lancelot admitted. It was the truth, he didn’t. He knew only of Arthur, the other knights, the blacksmith who had outfitted him for his armor and a few of the advisors by name rather than by meeting. It didn’t seem necessary to introduce himself when they all knew who he was, and when they all seemed to hate him. “They won’t hate you, though.”

Merlin looked at him gravely for a few moments before he burst out laughing, unable to keep the serious expression on his face for too long. “They will.”

He shrugged. “Maybe at first. But they’ll come to love you. It’ll be impossible for them not to.”

Merlin turned towards him and placed his hand over Lancelot’s where it rested on his thigh. “They’ll come to love you too, you know. If Arthur loves you that much, it’s only a matter of time.”

“Merlin, I don’t need them to like me, it’s not - “

“’No protests,” Merlin said with a pinch to his thigh between their fingers. “Besides, it should be unlawful to hate the king’s favorite knight, especially when he’s also the prince’s favorite.”

“The royal couple.” Lancelot teased, and Merlin pinched him again for it. He fell back with a sigh onto the grass, resting his arms behind his head and staring up at the sky. Wisps of clouds floated by in a clear blue sky, an unusually bright and warm autumn day that the whole kingdom was grateful for. For weeks, there had been grey skies and fat rainclouds, mud and muck everywhere that had left everyone in a foul humor.

“Don’t remind me, Merlin said. “He’s dreadful. I feel like I’m going to have nightmares about it every time I try to sleep!”

Helpfully, Lancelot offered “Our court physician could make a potion that might help with that.”

Merlin shot up so fast that Lancelot was convinced a bug had bitten him. “The court physician? A potion? Is he a sorcerer?”

“No, I don’t believe so, but-“

Merlin was up with more speed and grace than Lancelot though he had any right to have, tugging him up by the arm and practically running across the courtyard. “This way, right?” he asked, and the expression of pure, childlike excitement on his face made Lancelot’s heart ache.

Up the stairs and through the hallways they ran, Lancelot taking the lead after a while to show Merlin where he was going until they came to the crudely painted Court Physician sign hanging on the wall, the both of them a bit out of breath.

“Gaius, I’ve brought someone to meet you,” Lancelot said as he opened the squeaky door to Gaius’s workshop. “He’s very excited!”

“Who’s there, is that Lancel-OH!” there was a split-second of Gaius leaning over the railing of an upper walkway in the shop before it broke with a sickening crack and he started to fall. Lancelot stepped forward in the same moment Merlin did, and while his mind tried to wrap around confusion and the desire to act _now_ he watched as the cot Gaius slept on moved across the room like a living creature. He landed with a _thump_ , covered in splinters and breathless from the shock but mostly unharmed.

‘Merlin...?” Lancelot asked at the same moment Gaius was jumping up from the cot, demanding “How did you do that?”

Merlin shrugged. “I just...did it.”

Gaius looked from Merlin to Lancelot like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing until Lancelot offered an explanation. “Gaius, may I present Prince Merlin, of Avalon.”

“Avalon?” Gaius asked, walking forward so he was right in front of Merlin, clasping his hands in his. “A beautiful young man from a beautiful place. I had heard that magic was to be welcome back into Camelot, but it’s been so long since I – well, never mind that.”

Merlin squeezed his hands. “Yes, magic is here.”

“And the prophecy?” Gaius asked, and Merlin let go of his hands and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Yes, the prophecy. I’m to marry Arthur.”

Gaius looked blankly from Merlin, to Lancelot, back to Merlin, and then his gaze stayed on Lancelot. “Does Arthur know about this?” Lancelot nodded, opening his mouth to say something but Merlin beat him to it again.

“You bet he does, and he’s not happy. He’s an absolute _troll_ , Gaius. I can’t marry him. You know him, you understand.”

Much to Lancelot’s dismay, Gaius said “I do,” but followed it with “but I also know that he is a good man, far better than his father.”

Merlin looked like he was very sick of hearing about what a good man Arthur could be, but he held his tongue. Instead he looked around the shop and back to Gaius like he was asking permission, permission which was given with a nod from the old physician and then he was looking at everything, touching everything. Pulling books off the shelves only to read the first few pages and show them to one of them with awe and wonder, looking over herbs hanging to dry in the corner and rubbing the leaves between his fingers, perusing the potions and tinctures in dusty glass bottles on their numerous shelves around the room. _Incredible_ , he murmured, _this is all ancient magic_.

Incredible was right, Lancelot thought as Gaius and Merlin fell into a discussion about spells and sorcery, things Gaius had clearly kept hidden for years and years and things Merlin was so excited about he looked like he might cry from happiness.

_Go away_ , Lancelot told the nagging ache in his chest, the nervous pulling at the strings of his heart. _There is no place for you here._


	4. Chapter 4

A small skirmish broke out on the second day of treaties. Arthur’s messenger had come into the courtyard and asked for Leon, second-in-command in Arthur’s absence. It was nothing serious, nothing Arthur was even fighting in but still, worth noting. He would be delayed by at least a week and Merlin was absolutely delighted. Lancelot seemed excited as well, and Merlin tucked that thought away, secretive and close to his heart. They were both eager for a few more days alone, even if they didn’t say it out loud. Lancelot, he had learned, tended to grow upset when Arthur was criticized unjustly and out of respect Merlin had been listening to his stories of his future husband’s deeds, his bravery and selflessness, his quick thinking and even temperament. None of which he’d seen, of course, but things that, at Gaius and Lancelot's encouragement, he was willing to wait to see.

For three days he and Lancelot had been waking early and retiring late, learning every room in the castle side by side and learning more about each other in the process. Merlin had learned that Lancelot was common-born, something that typically would have barred him forever from being a knight in the old days. Arthur had stood up to his father and knighted him in his name, Lancelot said, recounting the way that Arthur had stayed his ground and said _if the code says this man is not fit to be a knight, then the code is wrong._

He’d learned that his parents had died in the same tragic attack that had claimed his two younger sisters. He’d also learned, most important of all, that he was Arthur’s favorite. Knowing it, Merlin could see it now – the way that Leon told Lancelot first if he was worried about Arthur’s safety, the way that Arthur’s scribbled message included a separate message just for Lancelot, one he didn’t get a chance to spy on before the knight tucked it away. Even if Lancelot wouldn’t say it, it was in the way he recounted things Arthur had said to him, things that he could tell made his heart swell with pride. Arthur couldn’t be so bad, Merlin imagined, if a man like Lancelot admired him so much.

Merlin in turn had told him everything: every detail about his home on Avalon, about the nine sisters who ruled the realm, of Morgana, the most powerful. About his mother, beautiful and magical, a fairy; his father, the last Dragonlord until Merlin had quieted a dragon in his mother tongue as he lay dying on the shores of the lake. About his duty to his people, to the magic, about how passionately he felt about returning magic to the land because he'd seen far too many lost and broken souls on the shores of Avalon harmed by Uther's persecution. About the prophecy that he’d been told of, one that bound he and Arthur together regardless of their wishes. About destiny, a curious thing; about fate, a cruel mistress.

Merlin could spend the rest of his life walking around with Lancelot, could spend all his days married to a man like him. He was everything the knights’ code stood for: honorable, honest, courageous and loyal. Things he explained with pride, things he exemplified.

On the fourth day, Lancelot suggested a ride through the forests surrounding Camelot and Merlin was ecstatic. He'd studied potions with Gaius for most of the previous day and not only was he eager to collect more ingredients, he was eager to find the spots in the forest where Gaius had told him were deeply magical, spots he had practiced in years and years ago, before the Purge.

\---

They chose a spot by a small lake, setting a blanket down on the grass next to the cool, clear water. Merlin pulled parcels of cloth-wrapped food out of his satchel, things he'd conned away from one of the kitchen maids with charm he only used in dire situations. There was fresh bread and carved pheasant, a hunk of rich, salty cheese that he pulled out with a wicked smile that made Lancelot shake his head and laugh. He had a few handfuls of raspberries and blueberries, cradled as softly as possible in his palm and leaving bright blue and red spots on his pale skin when accidentally crushed some. Peacefully, they ate their food; Merlin using his magic to move the cloth with berries on it out of Lancelot's reach when he wasn't looking just to play with him, laughing so hard his stomach hurt when he was caught.

Merlin spoke first when the bread was nothing but crumbs and the berries were only sweet remnants of flavor on their lips. “Lancelot, could I ask you something?” he asked, suddenly nervous.

“Anything, my Prince.”

“Merlin,” he corrected and Lancelot bowed his head, sheepishly apologetic.

“I’ve never kissed a man.” Merlin laughed, tossing a stone into the pond and watching it skip once, twice, three times before landing with a heavy _plunk_. “There was a boy who I saw once. His name was Will, and his mother had brought him to the shores of the lake in the hopes to try and save him. I remember thinking he was so handsome.”

He paused, but Lancelot knew he wasn’t done.

“I wanted to kiss him. To save him.”

Lancelot smiled at him, watching the way the high noon sun made Merlin’s hair shine blue amongst the black. “I’m sure a kiss from you could bring a man back from the dead, like in a story.”

Merlin curled his knees to his chest and rested his head on his arms atop them. “I didn’t though, you know. Save him. Or even kiss him. Obviously.”

“Well, I'm sure Arthur will kiss you quite a bit. He told me about the prophecy. He was to wait with his courage, for magic that he will support with love. You're destined to fall in love with him.” Lancelot said, the jealousy burning in his gut. It wasn't about being jealous of only Merlin for Arthur, or Arthur for Merlin, it was about being jealous of the both of them, of what he knew they would share. What he would give anything to be part of.

“Have you ever been in love?” Merlin asked, tearing Lancelot away from his thoughts and his blood felt like ice in his veins. _Yes,_ he wanted to say, _yes I have, with you and Arthur_ _both, and I deserve neither._

“Yes.”

“I wonder if I ever will be. I used to think it didn’t matter, that magic was all I needed. That I was content to love the way the magic felt around me on a hot summer day, the way I could taste it in the air in the mists of Avalon, but now I just want more.”

He uncurled his legs and stretched them out, relaxing back on his elbows as he lay on the blanket.

“I feel so _hungry_ sometimes, Lancelot, like I’m meant for more but I’m stuck here meant to marry a king who doesn’t even like me. You say that it's the prophecy that he'll love me and I love him, but it just...I don't know.”

“He will,” Lancelot said. “It’s the prophecy, remember? You and Arthur are to build Albion.”

“Albion…” Merlin murmured, barely a whisper. The name of Arthur's kingdom, _their_ kingdom. He didn’t _want_ Arthur, though. He was pompous, condescending, intolerable...he was everything Merlin had never expected when he’d been sent away from his home.

“I believe in the two of you. I know both of you so well. I know what’s in your hearts, and you’re both going to be something incredible.”

“Kiss me, Sir Lancelot,” Merlin said quietly, a soft breath interrupting Lancelot’s encouragement. A plea, one he should resist. He was Arthur’s betrothed, his king’s meant-to-be, but the way his lips wrapped _Sir Lancelot_ full and soft weakened his willpower to nothingness. Lancelot knew he’d hate himself later as the guilt ate him alive, but he thanked whatever gods watched over the world for the chance to feel Merlin’s lips against his for even half a heartbeat, to lean over him and breathe in the smell of his sun-warmed skin.

“Arthur would hate me,” Lancelot sighed as he pulled back, running a hand through his hair. Merlin looked more exquisite than he ever had before, eyelids fluttering prettily, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or not. He swallowed, licked his just-kissed lips and Lancelot, damn his own desire, just wanted to kiss him again. “He might not have you yet, at least not officially, but you are destined to be his. I shouldn’t have done that. He would never forgive me.”

“Then don’t tell him,” was Merlin’s response before he pulled Lancelot on top of him.

\--- 

Arthur returned unharmed, and Camelot rejoiced. Her shining king was back, whole and healthy and perfect as ever. After a lot of poking and prodding and in the end, mostly as a personal favor to Lancelot, Merlin agreed to even be in the same room as Arthur. Lancelot had welcomed Arthur home with open arms the same as the other knights, but whenever he looked into Arthur’s eyes, whenever his King smiled at him in the way he was so fond of, the way where his teeth dimpled his lower lip, he felt guilt course hot and horrible through his body. He had broken a vow, a vow of honesty and loyalty to his king but every time he saw Merlin touch Arthur’s arm he _burned_ , burned with fiery desire the same way he had when he’d first been knighted, so close and yet so far from Arthur. So deeply full of love and lust it was almost sickening. He was at war, torn between two warring sides; the noble knight who loved his king more deeply than he’d ever loved himself, and what was left of the wandering nomad who’d sold his sword to make ends meet for years and years, who would have fought to the death and still would to have a beautiful prince like Merlin.

Merlin, who was getting ready for a dinner alone with Arthur as they held their meeting. He’d look wonderful out of his pants and tunic and back in his Avalon robes, Lancelot knew, wonderful and beautiful and _magical_. He’d have his dinner with Arthur, and they would start to fall in love. All as it was meant to be, as it was fated, as it had been written down by someone far more important than him. And he would live with that, because the only thing he wanted more than the two of them in his arms was the two of them _happy_.

Arthur was busy relaying the results of his visit to the borders, tapping his fingers on the table in frustration as he recounted each day he’d spent there and his thoughts moving forward. “We’ve been sending weapons to them for months now to help arm them against the bandits that keep coming in from across the border, but if they’re just going to continue to slaughter each other then I’ll stop the deliveries.”

“And leave them to die?” Merlin asked from the doorway. His focus as bad as it was, Lancelot hadn’t heard Merlin come in and he gifted him with an excitable smile and a small wave as he shut the door, wincing when it slammed and echoed throughout the hall.

“Merlin, what do you need?”

Arthur was impatient, easily coming off as cruel yet again even though Lancelot had spoken with him as soon as hed returned. _Merlin_ is _beautiful,_ Arthur had told him, weighing his options, _and I must fulfill this destiny they speak of._ He was not so arrogant, he’d gone on to say, as to try and defy what was fated, and Lancelot’s stories of how Merlin had spent the days of his absence helping Gaius with potions to take to courtiers and townspeople alike seemed to sway him quite a bit.

  
“I’m to be your partner,” Merlin said, walking past Percival, Leon, circling around Arthur and sitting down at the table next to Lancelot, filling Gwaine’s empty seat. “I should be included in meetings such as these, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure I agree with that. How will I talk about how obnoxious you are?” he muttered under his breath, but out loud he said “Wonderful. How true. I’m sure if you keep quiet and listen, you’ll learn quite a bit.”

Merlin nodded and nudged Lancelot’s leg with his own and damn him, the touch sent heat shooting straight to the core of him.

“As I was saying before I was so _rudely interrupted_ -” he said, shooting a pointed glance at Merlin who deflected it expertly. ”I’m going to stop the deliveries immediately. That should make the fighting stop.”

“No, that’s wrong,” Merlin leaned in towards Lancelot and said. “That will just leave them defenseless. Does he not understand that?”

Eyes never leaving Arthur, Lancelot said quietly “He believes it will help.”

Merlin spoke again, louder this time, and to Arthur. “What are they fighting about?”

Arthur waved him silent and shrugged “I’m not sure. Some old family dispute that has no business lasting this long.”

“But did you bother to ask?”

“No, I-”

“Why not? Don’t you care? I keep hearing you’re a good man. Lancelot tells me that you’re the kind of man we should all strive to be like. Stopping the weapons deliveries will only cause more death when they are helpless against the bandits that trouble them. You should talk to them and try to resolve it.”

“I was just _there_ , Merlin.”

“So we go back! I’ll ride out with you. We can discuss it at dinner tonight, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Leave us.” Arthur hissed through clenched teeth, his hands balled into fists atop the table. Things Merlin had to have known, being magic; surely he felt the way the energy in the room shifted. One didn’t have to be in tune with the world and all of its people to realize that Arthur was furious. Quietly and quickly, Elyan and Percival left with Leon following behind them after a moment’s hesitation. Lancelot left last, whispering “Remember, his customs are not our customs,” in Arthur’s ear.

“Respect is respect.”

Merlin knew Arthur was mad. He could tell it on his face, the way his skin was colored red and the way his shoulders were tense and hard and he _didn’t care_. Let him be mad. He sat back in the chair and looked at him, smoothing out an edge of his robes and waiting for the door to close and for Arthur to undoubtedly speak.

“Merlin, how _dare you_.” Arthur rounded on him when the heavy door had closed behind the gaggle of knights, banging on the table as his voice rose. “You are to be my - you are my _betrothed_ , not one of my knights, not one of my advisors.”

Merlin’s heart sank and he knew his reaction showed on his face. “Am I not your equal?” Arthur was all about equality; with his knighthood to those that deserved it and his round table, ideas dug up from the kings of yesteryear because they were fair in his eyes. Why was this any different? Why should he lie and act like something he wasn’t? All he’d ever wanted upon coming here was to be himself.

Arthur remembered the prophecy just as Merlin did, and he could see it in his face. Together, it said. Together they would build Albion, the greatest kingdom that ever was. Together and _only_ together would they become the greatest king and most powerful sorcerer that would ever be.  Frustrated and tired, Arthur buried his face in his hands and dug his knuckles into his eyes to clear them. “What would you have me do, then, Merlin? Pray tell, with all of your knowledge, what would you have me do?

The sarcasm wasn’t lost on Merlin, but he tried to let it roll off of him like water ran down a castle tower, standing up so he could match Arthur in height, so he could at least feel a _bit_ bigger than being talked to this way was making him feel. “Go to them. Offer your support. Help them compromise. They will love you all the more for the wisdom you possess. Or at least, the wisdom they’ll _think_ you possess.”

“Are you saying I’m not wise?”

“Not from what I’ve seen.” Merlin smiled as Arthur stalked towards him, a bit of the anger falling away from his face to be replaced with confused indignation. It was a good look on him, Merlin decided, vowing then that he’d quite like to keep it on there. He was handsome enough; strong jaw, elegant nose, soft lips and pretty eyes - that was nice enough to look at, but this bewildered, insulted expression was just too damn good. “Would you care to prove me wrong, Arthur?”

“Shut up, Merlin.” Arthur said, placing his hand flat over Merlin’s mouth so he _had_ to shut up.

Merlin smirked, licked Arthur’s hand and challenged “make me, _dollop head_ ” and then flitted out the door before Arthur could even process what on earth had happened. Before the door could close, Lancelot peeked his head through and asked, “He’s quite something, isn’t he?”

_Yes_ , Arthur thought. _Yes, he is._

\---

Dinner was a quiet, intimate affair: a table set for two with candles all around, flickering signals lighting up the darkened room like tiny stars. Arthur, dressed down, out of his mail and cloak and wearing a loose shirt over soft breeches, watching him as he made his way through the door and across the room to take his seat at the table. Unfairly handsome as he gave a sweeping gesture to the table, inviting him. Welcoming him. Merlin wasn’t sure if it was meant as one or not, but he took it as an apology for the absolute disaster their first meeting had been.

“I suppose you’re trying to butter me up for something.” Merlin said as he sat down, wanting more than anything to find the meal lacking in some way. Wanting, but failing. He’d never eaten anything like it before. Loaves of still-warm bread with bittersweet caraway seeds and sliced apples drizzled in rich amber-colored honey. Tender baked eggplant perfectly seasoned with salt and pepper, moist and succulent roasted pork loin on a bed of potatoes and parsnips swimming in thick gravy. Blackberry wine that was at once sweet and sour, honeyed mead warm on his tongue.

“Oh, absolutely. I’m trying to fatten you up. You see, I was thinking the cooks could fix you for breakfast tomorrow but you won’t provide any proper sustenance, skinny as you are.” Arthur shot back, slathering a chunk of bread with creamy butter. “Perhaps a proper meal for one man, though.”

Merlin helped himself to a generous portion of the pork and hummed his appreciation as the roasted meat hit his tongue, chasing it with a crisp bite of an apple slice.

“Honestly, did you mean for that to sound as strange as it did, or is that just a special talent of yours?” he asked, arching an eyebrow as he drank some of the wine Arthur poured for him. “Making things sound lewd when you aren’t meaning to?”

Arthur scoffed and stabbed at a chunk of potato, eyeing Merlin disapprovingly as he brought it to his mouth. “Perhaps my mind just isn’t in the gutters, _Merlin_.”

Merlin shot him a look that said clearly _well, that much is obvious,_ but said “Or perhaps...you’re meaning it to sound just like that!”

“Hardly,” came the indignant response, bits of potato sticking to Arthur’s lips because he’d talked with his mouth full.

“Ah, it makes sense,” Merlin laughed, feigning sudden clarity of understanding. “Such a charming demeanor and such incredible manners...you mean to dispense with the pleasantries and claim your betrothed right here and now!”

Arthur smiled smugly. “Yes, _Prince_ Merlin, you’ve sniffed it out. I’m going to fuck you right here and now and spoil our wedding.”

“Pig! With a mouth like that, we could have had you for dinner…” Merlin said, shaking his head in mock sadness. “Oh….oh no, was this roast pork your beloved little brother? You shouldn’t let him hear you talk like that!”

Arthur sat back in his chair in what Merlin took as defeat, and he savored the victory. Arthur tapped the tip of his fork on the wood of the table impatiently and he adopted his sweetest expression, demure and serious. “Truly, there’s nothing more sensual than having your face pressed into dirty plates, don’t you think?”

“You’re insufferable, do you know that?” and Merlin couldn’t do it any longer. The serious expression melted away and he was smiling, laughing, unable to hold it back and damn near spitting his wine when he tried to take a drink of it.

Arthur raised his cup to his lips, rolling his eyes and going to take a drink when Merlin’s laughter grew loud and boisterous and he gave him a look that said _Really_?

“Did you just _snort_?”

“Yes I did!” Merlin yelled, dodging a hunk of bread that Arthur hurled at him, sending crumbs flying across the floor.

“ _You’re_ the pig now, Merlin!”


	5. Chapter 5

With his king, the love came slowly. Arthur had a beautiful heart, a golden one, buried under layers of self-importance and he had a good head on his shoulders, one that wore the crown spectacularly and didn’t break under its weight. He was not like his father, everyone said; he did not have it in him to grow bitter and cruel. Merlin had not known Uther Pendragon and he was glad for it, knew in his heart that he would have been miserable and alone under the thumb of a king like him. That is, if he had even been allowed to live, a thought that made him shudder. Morgana had been fond of saying that there was no greater honor than dying for a cause that is right, but the cause would not have been right. It would have been bitterness, vengeance, misplaced anger and guilt and _fear_ and Merlin was grateful he was getting to know the son rather than the father.

It was as Lancelot said, a sentiment that Leon had once echoed: Arthur needed to remember who he was before duty, his father, the kingdom had told him he should be. Needed to reconcile that with who he was _meant_ to be. The more time Merlin spent around him, the more he learned. Arthur was one of the most skilled swordsmen ever seen (second only, Sir Gwaine whispered, to himself) and eager enough to fight when he needed to, but it was peace he valued above all. His father, he explained, had ruled with fear. No one would try to take Camelot simply because they knew they couldn’t, but over just the few short weeks after Merlin’s arrival he watched Arthur travel across all the kingdoms in search of peace. Talks, treaties, almost-daily messengers from the four kingdoms surrounding them flooding into Camelot’s gates bearing a message for the king.  It was tentative, but it was there - something, Leon said with warmth and pride in his voice, Uther had never managed to bring.

Despite the progress made there was still much to do, and Merlin was feeling better and better by the day about the prospect of helping Arthur accomplish it. Despite his undeniable status as the most powerful sorcerer to ever live, on Avalon he’d done nothing. He was magical, as everyone was, so there had been lessons, a constant desire to learn from one another. But he’d seen no one, done nothing. Apart from helping a visiting Druid making a pilgrimage or assisting the high priestesses by fetching herbs and mixing potions, he’d lived an uneventful life. Now he had a chance to do something, to _be_ something, somebody.

During one the council meetings he’d been invited to, Arthur surprised him by turning his attention to him as he came in. He always came in late, lost in the hallways or distracted by something. Normally Arthur barely spared him a glance as he took his seat, but this time the only open seat was beside Arthur, just to his left. Merlin’s heart swelled as he sat down. How good it felt to be needed.

“Merlin, just the person I wanted to see, oddly enough.” Arthur began, and Merlin leaned in closer, already interested. “About what you said, during that first council meeting you interrupted…”

Lowering his voice to a playful whisper, Merlin teased, “Do you mean during the first council meeting my betrothed so lovingly invited me to?”

“Now is not the time for jokes, Merlin. I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“About the warring village?” Merlin remembered perfectly. Arthur had been angry, but Lancelot had shared with Merlin later, in private, that he agreed with him. He felt guilty; he should have stayed in the village and solved their issues instead of being in such a hurry to get back to the city. “I remember what I said, yes. Do you?”

“Yes, Merlin,” Arthur said, and the way he looked at Merlin made his demeanor change completely. _Please Merlin_ , his eyes begged. _Take this seriously._  “To be honest, it’s weighed quite heavily on me. I received a plea for help the other day, one that particularly clung in my mind. The messenger that brought it was young, but the writer...younger still. Please, look.”

With that, he picked a curled letter up off the smooth tabletop and handed it to him. Merlin took the parchment and looked it over, scanning the crudely written words _Dear Your Majesty_ , it read. _My name is Henry and my village is at war. I know you’re the King and we’re just a small northern village, but please help us. We need you_.

“How am I to ignore a request such as this?” Arthur said as Merlin passed it to his left, watching as it changed hands from Gwaine, to Percival, to Elyan, to Leon, back to Lancelot who set it in front of Arthur on the table.

Merlin caught the sleeve of Arthur’s shirt between his fingers and rubbed his thumb over his arm. “You don’t.”

\---

They were ready to ride by early morning of the following day.  Arthur, dutiful as he was, was in the worst way possible _not a morning person_. Merlin was awake, dressed and standing in the courtyard brushing his horse’s mane as he laughed at one of Gwaine’s jokes before Arthur had even showed his face.

“Ah, princess is awake!” Gwaine teased, gesturing at a window high up in a tower. Arthur’s window, judging from the way he’d opened the shutters and was hanging halfway out of it. “Good morning, fair lady.”

Even as far away as he was Merlin could see the way Arthur huffed indignantly before slamming the window shut and presumably, moving to get dressed.

“I foresee a change in your schedule, Merlin,” Lancelot said gently. “With a husband like that. Or maybe a change in Arthur’s. A compromise will have to be made!”

Gwaine elbowed Lancelot in the ribs and chuckled. “More like Arthur will wake up even later. Who wouldn’t, with a husband like Merlin?”

Merlin flushed from the tops of his ears to the tips of his toes as Lancelot said sternly “ _Gwaine_.”

“You can’t blame a man for noticing,” Gwaine said as he opened up his saddlebags to ensure he’d packed the proper amount of food. “And notice I have…”

Merlin loved the attention, honestly. Gwaine was a good man with a long and complicated past and a big heart, more sensitivity than he liked to show and an unfairly handsome face. He was as flirty as Lancelot had cautioned and as loyal as Arthur had bragged and Merlin couldn’t help but be drawn to him.

“Oh, good sir knight, _thank you_ for noticing me. My heart’s fluttering…”

A few minutes later Arthur appeared, rubbing sleep out of his eyes but trying to pretend he wasn’t. It was to be just the four of them; Leon was staying behind to watch over Camelot in Arthur’s absence and Elyan was in the countryside visiting his father and sister. Percival had stayed behind because, he’d said, he was too intimidating for peace talks, something which Gwaine just couldn’t stop laughing about. He kept mumbling _too intimidating_ and _can you imagine, Percival? He’s as soft as a little bunny rabbit most of the time_.

The ride was nothing close to pleasant; the better part of a day’s ride squeezed into half of one and by the time they got there Merlin ached in places he didn’t know could ache. It was easy to see that the village was in disarray the moment they arrived; the gates of houses broken and hanging off of their hinges and people hiding from in the safety of their homes. There was as good as a line drawn straight down the middle dividing the village into two, the tension so thick that it would have to be cut with a sword.

“Hello?” Arthur called as they walked through the village, in peace but alert. Merlin could see Lancelot and Gwaine’s hands on the hilts of the swords at their hips and he knew Arthur was the same, knew that his easy, relaxed posture was a facade that he could peel away at any second. “I’m the King of Camelot, Arthur. I’m here to help you resolve this conflict.”

“There is no resolving it,” a middle-aged man said as he stepped down from the largest of the shabby homes. “What’s got to be done has got to be done.”

Confused, Arthur turned to his knights. Gwaine wore an expression that matched Arthur’s and Lancelot shrugged, urging him forward with the barest no of his head. Merlin moved closer to him, letting the tips of his fingers ghost along the underside of Arthur’s bent arm. _Patience_ , he soothed.

“Why do you care?” one of the villagers asked, mashing the tines of his pitchfork into the ground and leaning on its weight. It was easy to see he was troubled, easy to see that Arthur was doing more harm than good. Merlin stood behind him and to the left, watching nervously at the way the villagers were crowding around them on either side, filing in. He wasn’t scared, no - he had his magic and the knights had their steel, but still the air felt stale and wrong, the remnants of so much bad magical energy hanging around giving him a headache.

“I care because you are _wasting_ our resources.” Arthur said. “We send you weapons to defend against bandits and you use them on each other! That’s no proper way of life. Why do you do this?”

One of the villagers, a wrinkled old woman holding onto two children spoke up. “Because. There’s a score to be settled and blood to be spilled, Arthur Pendragon.”

A few villagers from the other side of the square answered her with balled fists and mumbled threats and Arthur scoffed. “This is _ridiculous_. What could a tiny village have to argue about that is so bad it has to come to blows and spill blood?”

“We petitioned your father for help with this argument years ago, and he told us he had more important things to worry about. So you do the same, Arthur Pendragon. Let us handle this how we choose to handle it and keep your pretty nose out of trouble.” It was the same man who’d greeted them when they walked in, the same one who said there’d be no resolution.

“I am not my father.” Arthur said quietly, levelly. He respected his father deeply, Merlin knew, but from what he’d gathered from conversations with all of the knights and Arthur himself, he was very proud of the fact that he ruled differently.

“As we’ve heard.” one of the villagers shot back, something that Merlin was sure was a jab at him, at Arthur’s destiny, at their relationship. It was something that he had unfortunately learned to let roll off easily. There were still some in the kingdom who were confused by it, both because he was a man and because he was magic.

“Why didn’t you help us last time?” the leader asked. “You were here weeks ago, but now that you’re back with your knights and your fiancé, you want to show off? Preen, like some disrespectful little peacock? All due respect, _Your Majesty_ , we don’t need your help around here.”

“It was I who drew him away last time,” Merlin said, stepping in. He wasn’t able to keep quiet any longer, not when he could see Arthur’s frustration coiled in every cord of his body. The situation was headed south; the villagers bristling with indignation as Arthur floundered to explain why he hadn’t stayed the last time he’d passed by. Why he hadn’t thought to help them then. “You see, I was new in Camelot then, and it is the king’s duty to make me feel welcome.”

The villagers looked at Merlin like he had three heads, something Merlin was used to at this point but nothing that he particularly liked. He knew Lancelot wasn’t fond of it either, knew Gwaine angered easily and didn’t tolerate any disrespect to his best friend. Swallowing the lump of nervousness in his throat he pressed on.

“Camelot will change, and I am the first of that. I am - ” he paused, not because of shame or disgrace but because he could _feel_ one hundred pairs of eyes watching him, “ - a sorcerer.”

The crowd erupted and Gwaine, as he loved to do, drew his sword in response, a motion which Merlin could hear Lancelot chastising him for. Merlin wanted to vanish into the nearest house, to wait it out and to hide because immediately he felt that he’d made the wrong decision, put Arthur’s reputation on the line.

“...A sorcerer?” a woman asked, stepping through the thronging crowd. She had deep purplish circles under her eyes and her voice could barely rise above a whisper. “My grandmother told me it was a sorcerer who cursed this village long ago. He poisoned everyone’s minds. Made them want to fight. Made them want to…kill.”

Merlin brushed past Arthur delicately, walking towards the woman and leaning down so his face was inches from hers. “I can help with that,” he said, looking over his shoulder at Arthur’s flabbergasted face. “ Arthur and I together can help you. All of you.”

It was like something in the air, the earth, the very _fabric_ of time changed in those moments. Like a colossal shift; an earthquake or a rockslide, some force of nature that Merlin could feel in his bones.

The man who had greeted them, the man who appeared to be the leader, sighed heavily. “I heard the same thing from my father. I didn’t want to believe it. I heard plenty of things over the years...someone killed a brother. Someone stole a wife. Stupid things. This village used to house a lot of sorcerers, until that one went bad. At least, that’s what I’m told.”

Slowly, Arthur walked forward until he could place his hand on the man’s shoulder. “I’m sure my betrothed would love to see that day return.”

Merlin felt such a surging of affection for Arthur in those moments, such a warm, incredible wave of trust and love that crested like a wave over his heart, bore into the farthest reaches of his soul. He loved him in the moments when he smiled at a man who’d condescended to and threatened him, loved him for his patience and humility when the Arthur he’d first met would have drawn a sword. Loved him in the moments he knelt on the ground and started picking up bits and pieces of broken, splintered wood and scattered supplies, loved him in the moment he sat up to wipe sweat off his brow and the sun made him shine like gold. Arthur was gold, warm and precious, and Arthur was _his_.

That was the thought in Merlin’s head, with Arthur watching, as he stood at each corner of the town - north, south, east, west - and let his focus narrow to the wind whistling through blades of grass and leaves of trees, let the sounds of nature and what feelings of warmth and love still lingered in the area under a miasma of negativity. The thought in his head as he drew it all into himself; into his feet and up his legs, through his chest and down his arms until he could expel it from his fingertips, an energy so white-hot it almost burned. When he finished, there was Arthur still, standing in the center of the square with a crate of spilled vegetables at his feet and an expression of pure awe on his face. An expression that Merlin would commit to his heart and soul to treasure for all of eternity, because it felt _incredible_ to be revered like that.

\--- 

As the day wound down, Arthur made a decision. He had a ring he’d found in the vaults at Camelot, one his father had locked away during the purge. The magic surrounding it was palpable, something even he could feel when it had called out to him from its locked box the day he’d gone looking. It seemed perfect for Merlin; a delicate splash of red to his otherwise blue and purple wardrobe. A splash of red, Arthur thought smugly, to mark him as Camelot’s. As _his_.

“Lancelot, may I ask your advice?” he asked, stopping the knight as he crossed between inn and stable, going about his chores. He’d noticed he hadn’t eaten much at dinner, something that troubled him. He knew Lancelot was a sad soul, prone to taking too heavy a burden on his shoulders when the blame was none of his own. Knew that he felt deeply and strongly, knew that something must be bothering him. He’d never get a straight answer, but he could at least let him know his appreciation by asking him such an important question as the one he had.

‘Anytime, sire. About anything.” Lancelot said, and Arthur knew it was true.

“Merlin is my betrothed. As I shared with you when I first went to Avalon, we are...meant to be. Fated, that is.” Arthur explained, shuffling a bit in place. “However, I think it might be nice to still...well, you know. Ask him.”

Arthur had thought it over. It seemed the proper thing to do, both in the traditional sense and in the moral one. They’d been brought together by destiny, slammed together and never asked what they wanted. He believed that Merlin cared for him, or at least, that he would.

Lancelot smiled softly, sadly. “Merlin was sad for so long when he first came to Camelot. Now, he’s happy. _You_ make him happy. It doesn’t matter if you ask him in an inn after a day of hard work or in a castle after a day of feasting. He will appreciate the gesture.”

“Do you think it’s stupid to want to ask him even though it’s been written down that we would join since before time began? Is that silly, Lancelot?”

“No. I think it’s very sweet. That’s a beautiful ring, and he will wear it proudly.”

“And what will you do?” Arthur asked, and instantly regretted it. Lancelot seemed so troubled by it, by that one simple question. Something like fear seemed to flash in his eyes and Arthur could feel his body language change rather than see it.

“I – “ he stuttered. “I don’t understand. Nothing is changing. I will be there for you, sire, as I always have. Merlin is beautiful, truly the shining light I believe that you and the kingdom both need to grow to greatness.” Lancelot vowed, drawing his attention to a spot near Arthur’s collarbone as he spoke.

There was a dent in the mail, something he could focus his attention on when he couldn’t look Arthur in the eye. It wasn’t that he was unhappy, quite the contrary. It was just that he was so damnably envious, so jealous of both of them for what they were t share.

“I will love and support you both as I feel that I was always meant to do.”

With that, he clapped Arthur on the shoulder and used the motion to pull him into a sort of awkward, one-armed hug that ended too soon. It left Arthur’s breath shaky and made his heart hurt, a most peculiar sensation like it was heavy and light all at once.

Something about the way he’d said _love_ and _support_ in conjunction with each other made a memory materialize at the back of Arthur’s mind, one he couldn’t quite place. Like he’d heard it somewhere before, somewhere important.

_And I will love you, Lancelot_ , Arthur thought as he watched his favorite knight nuzzle into his horse’s neck to quiet it for the night they’d be spending there. His resolve steeled, he turned to go into the town’s inn for a good night’s sleep and a question that had to be asked.

\---

“You were...well Merlin, quite honestly you were wonderful today,” Arthur said as he undressed for the night, shedding the jacket and vest he’d worn for riding and standing only in his tunic and breeches. Merlin looked up from the book he was reading, one of Gaius’ from his workshop that he’d taken on their journey so he could read up on magical history. “I was more impressed than I thought I ever would be.”

“That’s part of my charm. I just keep surprising you.” Merlin said it like a tease, a sing-songed response as he flicked a page in the book. He watched Arthur out of the corner of his eye, watched the way the smile stretched across his face and he shook his head in disbelief. The way that he said, quietly, “That you do…”

Arthur was the biggest pain in the arse when it came to getting ready for bed. He was supposed to have a manservant, he’d said before, complaining the whole time as he fought to undo a difficult bit of lacing on his pants or if he wanted to bathe before he crawled into bed. Merlin had heard it and now he got to see it firsthand: the way Arthur jumped around like some bizarre, long-legged bird while trying to remove his boots, the way he got his shirt caught on his head when he moved to take it off. Merlin fought very hard to hold back the laughter, he really did, but he just couldn’t when Arthur flopped down defeated on the bed and mumbled _help_ from behind his dirty, sweat-soaked shirt. Balancing the book on his crossed legs he reached over and unlaced the collar, loosening it and laughing when Arthur tugged it over his head and threw it over in the chair by his jacket.

“Truly, what would you do without me?”

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur said, something Merlin could tell he’d be hearing a lot of. It was affectionate, at this point, just like the way he shoved Merlin’s leg out of the way as he climbed on the bed. “Shut up and go to bed.”

“This is all very improper,” Merlin said as he rolled out of the way so Arthur could fit into place behind him, to snuggle down under the inn’s itchy blankets and get some sort of comfort and not paying Merlin any mind. “Sharing a bed with my husband-to-be before our wedding. What will become of my virtue?”

  
With that, he flopped back on his pillow with a hand dramatically over his brow and Arthur smacked his own pillow down onto his face with a loud _fwap_. “Shut up, Merlin, you’re not a girl.”

“Am I not still virtuous?”

Arthur wriggled his hand under Merlin’s head and curled an arm around him, tugging him closer so Merlin’s back was to his chest. “Well, Merlin, if you’re so concerned about it you could always sleep on the floor.”

“I’m a prince…?” Merlin said indignantly. He was fairly sure Arthur was teasing, but _still_.

“And I’m a _king_ ,” Arthur said. “Besides, it won’t be too much longer now that it’s improper.”

When he said that, Merlin perked up and his entire body tensed. It wasn’t the first time Arthur had held him close, something happening more and more often these days, but something in the way his voice had softened caught his attention, the way he whispered it like a secret. Like it was only for him. Arthur curled his fingers into Merlin’s and lifted it off the bed, turning their clasped hands this way and that so the low-burning candle’s light caught the metal and jewels of his rings. Merlin had them memorized; the band on his left index finger that belonged to his mother, always polished to a smooth gleaming shine; the thick, heavy dark metal of the Camelot seal he wore on his thumb.  One of them, however, Merlin didn’t recognize:  a silver band on Arthur’s little finger with a small ruby.

“Oh, are you showing off now?” Merlin asked, playing it off carefully.  “I’ve held this hand. I’ve seen those rings.”

“Oh, really? Never mind, then.” he felt Arthur shrug from his position pressed against him, the way he could feel his chest contract and expand against his back. The warmth of his skin was pleasant, so comforting he didn’t want to lose it to the chilled air whistling around them in the drafty inn. Arthur jostled him when he tried to remove his arm from under his head, to roll over to face the wall and Merlin stopped him with a squeeze of his hand draped over his stomach.

“ _Arthur._ ”

Arthur pressed back against him, nuzzling into the nape of Merlin’s neck, warm breath tickling his skin and making the hairs stand up and when he spoke, Merlin’s heart jumped up into his throat. In the end, Arthur did move his arm out from under Merlin’s head, but it was only so he could rest his cheek on his hand for support as he looked down at him.

“Merlin, I never thought I’d ask you this given how _obnoxious_ you are, but I want to do this right. Will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?”

Merlin rolled over so he was lying on his back, expecting to see a rather charming, lovesick expression on Arthur’s face. Instead he was met with an indignant sneer because his movements had pulled the blanket off his legs. Impatiently, Arthur tugged it back with a chilled hiss and did nothing but laugh when Merlin yelped at _his_ sudden coldness.  “Arthur, you really mean that?”

“If I am to be what I am destined to be,” he said as he kissed Merlin’s forehead, lips pressed warm and soft right between his eyes, “then apparently, I need you.”

Arthur let go of Merlin’s hand to work the ring off his finger and slid it onto Merlin’s. He followed it with another kiss to the tip of Merlin’s nose, then to the hollows of his cheeks. “Together.”


	6. Chapter 6

It was Lancelot who Merlin saw first in the morning. He was awake and dressed by the time Merlin got out of bed, bustling in and out of the inn’s small door as he alternated between consuming his breakfast and readying the horses for their journey back home.

“Good morning, Lancelot,” Merlin said as he followed him out to the stables, catching the knight’s arm. “Did you sleep well?”

Merlin would _never_ get tired of the way Lancelot smiled. So rare, so seldom seen. Something that should have been all the more beautiful for it but instead it made him sad. But smile he did when Merlin’s hand touched his arm, widening as he rested his heavy, sword-calloused hand atop Merlin’s. “I did, Merlin. Thank you for asking. What about you? Was sharing a room with Arthur as horrifying as you once thought it would be?”

“Shut up,” Merlin teased, shoving his bony shoulder playfully into Lancelot’s chest, curling into his embrace as he did. “It was...nice. He asked me to marry him. Officially.”

Out of sight next to the stables, Lancelot allowed himself to curl his arms around Merlin. He was hard and soft all at once, bony angles with soft, supple skin, still pleasantly warm from the bed and the shared heat of Arthur’s body. Lancelot wanted to hold him and never let go.

“Is that so? Let’s see, then.” Merlin held up the hand with the ring proudly, turned it side to side so the early morning sun caught on the ruby and made it shine like a burst of hot sunlight. He was so proud of it, Lancelot could tell, so proud of the way it looked on his pretty finger and he loved him all the more for it, loved the way he proudly displayed something from Arthur.

“I told you, Merlin.”

“Hmm?”

“I told you that you would come to love him,” he laughed. _And that he would come to love you._ Again, he was reminded painfully that he could love them all he wanted, but he could never have them. That it was to Arthur and Merlin, king and prince alone and not their lovesick, stupid knight.

Merlin moved closer to him, a welcome presence against the morning chill. “I still love you too, you know.”

“And I love you,” Lancelot said. “But there is no place for me here.”

He left Merlin with the barest brush of a kiss to the corner of his lips, nothing like the passionate embraces they’d shared weeks prior on the banks of a lake, in hidden alcoves in Camelot, in Lancelot’s chambers. Anywhere they could find to be alone. Lancelot knew it, felt the ache of the difference in his very _soul_ and wanted nothing more than to kiss him breathless but it was _wrong_. He’d already done so much, already so much that he needed to confess to Arthur. He left Merlin before he could see the tears that ran down his face and rimmed his eyes stark red, left before Merlin could see the identical tracks of tears on his own face.

\---

In the days before their wedding, things grew tense. It was to be the greatest ceremony that Camelot had ever known, larger than Uther and Ygraine’s, more extravagant than any king before them. It was to be more mystical than anything Camelot had seen in decades, magical to reflect the destiny they shared. Lancelot had made himself scarce; taking shifts patrolling the castle away from the other knights when they wanted an extra night off and throwing himself completely into practicing with his sword, polishing his techniques. Everyone always said that he was brave, but he didn’t feel it. A brave man didn’t cower away from the men he loved, didn’t hope and pray that he wasn’t summoned so he could wallow in misery and guilt on his own.

When he could bear it no longer, though, he sought Arthur out. It was the night before their wedding and he could sense the excitement humming in the castle, the cooks and the servants working long shifts to prepare, the great hall decorated and arranged in dazzling beauty. He saw it, he appreciated it, but his own shortcomings weighed too heavy on his heart.

“Sire, I must confess something,” he said as he stepped into the king’s chambers, shutting the heavy door behind him. “It’s been a constant on my mind and I cannot, in good conscience, continue to live this way.”

Arthur gestured to the chair in front of his desk and set down the stack of papers he was leafing through. “Sit, Lancelot.”

“I’d rather stand,” he said awkwardly. His heart was lodged somewhere in the region of his throat, thumping wildly, like a frightened rabbit’s. “It’s...in regards to your betrothed. To Merlin.”

His heart ached at the way the corners of Arthur’s mouth turned up the way they hadn’t months before. The way it was obvious from how his face softened how much he cared for him, how much he’d grown to love him over the course of their betrothal. How he’d kill to have Arthur look that way about him, how he knew the smile would vanish the moment he continued speaking.

“I am in love with him. I have loved him for months, quite honestly since he arrived. He has confessed that he loves me too, and I...I was happy about that. Selfishly, I have loved and embraced your future husband.” Lancelot said, memorizing the chunks taken out of the rough stone floor from years of walking. “As I am in love with you. As I have often thought about loving and embracing you.”

Arthur didn’t speak for a few moments and Lancelot swore he could _hear_ the king’s heart beating. When the anticipation seemed like it might kill him, he lifted his head to meet his gaze and Arthur’s expression was something he couldn’t quite read and that scared him.

“Guards!” Arthur yelled, eyes never leaving his. Lancelot was certain he was going to be dragged down to a cell, into the cold and damp to wait until Arthur decided how he would have him executed. It didn’t matter, he thought, because at least he’d been true to himself finally. To Merlin, to Arthur. In silence, still, they stood waiting for Merlin and when he appeared, the tension changed considerably. Now there was someone else to share it.

“You called for me, Arthur?” Merlin asked as he stepped in the door, pleased smile widening even further when he saw Lancelot only to fall when he read the look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

Arthur sat back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Lancelot tells me that he’s in love with you. That he’s been in love with you for months, that you’re in love with him in turn.”

To his credit, Merlin didn’t miss a single beat and his answer came quickly, in the span of one second after Arthur’s question. The pure truth, the honest truth. “Yes.”

“Were you planning on telling me? Or were you going to continue to lie about it and make a fool out of me?” Arthur asked slowly, gravely.

Merlin withered, the pride he’d felt at giving such an honest answer vanishing. “Arthur, I-” he started. “The timing wasn’t right.”

“I should have seen it,” he said quietly, and Lancelot’s blood ran cold. “The way Lancelot always jumped at the chance to guard you, to take you out when you wanted to gather herbs or practice magic somewhere safely out of the city. The way he was always draping his cloak around your shoulders, as if you could be that _constantly_ cold, _dammit Merlin_.”

“Please don’t be angry with Merlin,” Lancelot said, and for the first time in a few long, agonizing minutes Arthur looked to him instead of Merlin “The blame is mine. I confessed to him, what choice did he have but to...to play along, maybe? He is yours, Arthur. As he is meant to be.”

“No, I’m not,” Merlin said, snatching Arthur’s gaze back with an incredulous scoff. “Listen, this ‘only one person’ mentality I’ve seen since living in Camelot is so unlike anything in Avalon. There we are happy to love and support each other. We consider ourselves blessed to fall in love, even more so to find more than one person to share that love with.”

Arthur and Lancelot both looked at him with matching expressions of confusion. “What?”

“I don’t see any reason why I can’t be both of yours. Why you can’t be each other’s’ in turn.” Merlin said with a shrug, like it was the easiest thing in the world to wrap one’s head around.

‘Let me get this straight,” Arthur said, watching Merlin in disbelief as he walked to stand by his desk. “You want me to tell Camelot that not only are they to have two kings, one of whom is magic, but that my knight is also my husband’s lover?”

“And yours, ideally,” Merlin said, smile splitting his lips again as he looked down at Arthur and winked. Lancelot felt his skin flush. To get the chance to be Merlin’s beloved, his lover, was a once in a lifetime opportunity. To get the chance to be lover to both Merlin _and_ Arthur, his prince and his king, was more than he ever could have dreamed of. More than he deserved by far, and nothing he could have, and tears slipped from his eyes unbidden before he could blink them away.

“My king, my prince,” he said, shaking his head. “Arthur...Merlin. I love you. More deeply than I think you will ever know. I love...the way you love your people. The way you are steadfast in your beliefs, but unafraid to compromise. The way you taunt each other back and forth. I love _you._ The both of you.”

“Love...” Arthur whispered suddenly.

“Arthur?” Merlin asked, and Lancelot stopped. He had so much more to say, so many foolish endearments, but it was clear Arthur had something to say.

“Love. The way he keeps saying love.” Arthur said, standing up from his desk and looking out the window. “Love.”

Lancelot looked to Merlin, concerned, and the warlock shrugged. His expression was one of worry, hesitant in the way he approached Arthur by the window and rested a hand on his shoulder. Soft, gentle, encouraging but not overbearing. Just the wary Arthur liked it.

“Arthur, what is it?”

“Something they said. In Avalon. About _love_.”

Merlin lowered his voice, looking to Lancelot to make sure he couldn’t hear. He was staring at the ground, hands clasped in front of him and Merlin knew that if given half the chance, he’d run and they’d lose him forever.

“When I first went, they told me to wait. They told me to wait, courageous, for magic to arrive. To support it with love.” Arthur explained, and Merlin watched his expression carefully.

“I’m obviously magic,” he said. “And you’re quite courageous. Does that make Lancelot...love?’

Slowly, they turned around at the same time to look at their knight. The one they both loved, the one who didn’t think himself deserving of it, and slowly they moved to walk towards him, each taking a path around either side of the desk.

“Arthur?” he asked as he watched them, confused. “Merlin...?”

The first touch as the three of them felt undeniably _right_. Merlin’s arms around Lancelot’s neck and Arthur’s hands around his waist, their lips pressed to his cheeks. Stubble against smooth skin, flushed with embarrassment and pleasure.

“Lancelot...I love you.” Merlin said softly, gently, tracing the line of Lancelot’s jaw with his lips. “I love the way your hand feels in mine and I love the way the corners of your eyes crinkle when you laugh, I love – “

“ – your steadfast sense of right and wrong.” Arthur chimed in, running his hand up Lancelot’s back until his fingers twined with Merlin’s at his shoulder. “I love that you’ve been there for me since the moment I met you. I love the weight of you by my side in battle and I love seeing you happy because you deserve it and I know you’ve never been it.”

“My lord, I – “ Lancelot started, turning towards Arthur, who brought his other hand up to cup his cheek, thumb rubbing his chin before he pressed their lips together. And that, g _ods,_ that was the best sight Merlin had ever seen, the way Lancelot’s eyes closed and he melted into Arthur’s touch, the way he wrapped his arm around Merlin’s waist and pulled him in closer. The way Arthur’s eyes glazed over when Lancelot turned his head, slow, easy, like time was halting just for them to meet the questing path of Merlin’s lips. Softly, he sighed as Merlin pulled away. “I’m not worthy of this.”

Merlin rested his cheek on Lancelot’s shoulder, warm, firm muscle under his face. “Stop.”

Arthur leaned across his knight and kissed the center of Merlin’s forehead, smoothed his hair off his brow and smiled in his direction. “There’s no one more worthy.”

Merlin squeezed Arthur’s hand tighter in the center of Lancelot’s back, reaching with his other to grasp Lancelot’s atop where it rested on Arthur’s hip. “Besides, it’s fated, right?”

Merlin could feel the change in Lancelot’s body language and he knew Arthur could too. He was tense once more, his easy relaxation giving way to nervousness again and, voice breaking, he asked “Fated, Merlin?’

“You know of the prophecy, Lancelot. I’ve told you.” Arthur said. “When I went to Avalon, they said that...I was courage. Merlin here is magic, and they said that I was to support our union, if you’d like to call it that, with love.”

“That’s you,” Merlin said, letting go of Arthur’s hand to tickle his hand up Lancelot’s spine until he could tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck. “You’re meant to be with us.”

“Soon, I will marry Merlin,” Arthur said as he nuzzled into Lancelot’s neck, “as the prophecy dictates.”

“I know,” Lancelot said. “I would never seek to stop you. I believe in the kingdom that you will build.”

“But the prophecy also dictates that love, both the concept and the individual, is to be with us.” Merlin and Lancelot both turned to Arthur, identical expressions of disbelief on their faces. “I won’t seek to hide you, Lancelot. I wish for all of us to be ourselves.”

Lancelot turned his head to bury his face in the filmy fabric of Merlin’s cloak and Merlin could feel his face, damp with tears.

“That’s what we deserve to be. Ourselves.” Arthur repeated. “It’s a bit unconventional, and it’ll take the public some getting used to-OH?”

Lancelot pulled them both close, Merlin and Arthur curled together and in his arms. Right where he’d wanted them, where he was lucky enough to have them.

“I am the luckiest man that Camelot has ever known.”


	7. Chapter 7

Lancelot left early in the morning, peeled himself out of Arthur’s lavish four-poster bed and the alluring warmth of the two bodies within it. It was not in him to sleep late, not like Arthur and Merlin who could lie in bed until the morning was late and the sun was high in the sky. Even if he had no duties, no responsibilities, he couldn’t do it. It was a difficult position to leave, his place from in between the two of them and he was sure he ended up jostling both of them as he crawled out from it. Arthur mumbled a curse, his voice thick with sleep and Merlin made an absolutely adorable sound of moderate distress when Lancelot had to move his leg out of the way. He stood at the foot of the bed as he replaced his tunic he’d shed for sleep and slipped on his boots, looking over them in the bare sliver of early morning sunlight sneaking through the heavy curtains and wondering how he found himself here.

\---

Arthur woke late, and immediately he cursed himself for not waking early on a day like this. His wedding day. Lancelot was gone, probably for hours now, and even Merlin was dressed and sitting at his desk reading a volume of spells about as big as he was. When he rolled over with a jerk, Merlin looked up from his book and arched an eyebrow teasingly.

“Is there a problem, sire?”

“None, Merlin, thank you for asking,” he answered, and then to punish him for that expression he added “Are you wearing _that_ to the ceremony? I can’t marry you in that.”

Merlin looked down at his loose, comfortable clothes:  a belted tunic and soft breeches, his bare feet curled up under him. “No, Arthur. Are you wearing _that_?”

Arthur looked down at himself where the blanket had fallen away: no shirt, breeches that were still inappropriately unlaced and he scowled at Merlin, earning him a smirk.

“We should just get married like this. All that talk of uniqueness and equality...why should we dress up, honestly?”

“You’re a disgrace, Merlin.” Arthur shook his head as he rolled out of bed and shuffled to his wardrobe, pawing through the folded cloaks and hanging shirts. He was in hunt of his best dress shirt, washed and pressed only the day before in preparation, and the newly-tailored pants that had no fading color or rips. It was important for the king to look his best, after all. He tore through the clothes, throwing them over his shoulder onto the bed, the floor, the chair halfway across the room, and when he dared to look at Merlin he was laughing.

“I love this method of getting ready, truly.” he said as he closed the book and set it on top of the desk and Arthur threw a shirt directly at him, one he dodged skillfully, unfortunately used to it by now.

“Out, Merlin!”

Merlin jumped up from his chair and crossed the room, giving Arthur’s shoulder a quick kiss as he darted by him and then one on his cheek as he turned to watch him go.

\---

Merlin was nervous. It wasn’t that he was scared and it wasn’t that he was having second thoughts (even if he’d wanted to, it wasn’t as if he couldn’t) but he imagined it was natural for everyone to be nervous on their wedding day. Still, though, he had a nervous lead weight in his heart to match the butterflies in his stomach. He had no servant, he’d refused one...he was damn well capable of dressing himself and cutting his own food, and though Arthur joked sometimes that he’d make Merlin into one because he didn’t trust anyone that much, he knew Arthur had moved past wanting one too. Arthur, he knew, would rather have a friend than a servant and he had _many_ of those.

He chose his clothes carefully, selecting something that held true to his Avalonian home without being too over-the-top. Simple, loose pants of a soft fabric that clung to his long, thin legs and a flowing, cascading robe over them, a high collar tied tightly around his neck and a scarf draped over his shoulders. The pants and robe were of his customary soft purple and blue but the scarf, in honor of Camelot, was a bright splash of red. He knew Arthur liked the color on him (if _I guess it doesn’t look_ so _bad on you, Merlin_ meant that he liked him, he thought with a quiet laugh) and he knew Lancelot was in awe of his customary choice of clothes. They looked otherworldly, made him look like the powerful warlock he was and Merlin appreciated that about him. In a way he was dressing for the both of them, rather than just Arthur, and he decided he liked it that way. After all, that was how Arthur had intended it to be, hadn’t it?

\---

The energy in the room was incredible. Rows and rows of courtiers and citizens of the lower town alike had showed up to see the wedding of their glorious king, all dressed in their best and all talking quietly amongst themselves. Lancelot was pleased to see quite a few nobles who he wouldn’t have expected to see and he was glad for it. Arthur and Merlin had faced some opposition at first from those who had held staunchly to Uther’s old ways, he knew, but that seemed to be over. He crossed the short distance from the hall’s side door to stand with his fellow knights, dressed in freshly pressed formal blacks and browns beneath their shining capes, the dragon a beacon of gleaming gold on each of them. He was at the end, closest to where Arthur and Merlin would stand as they took their vows and arrogantly, he thought that was how it should be.

It was a little unconventional; there was no walk up the aisle as there would have been with a princess, instead they both filed in the side door past the knights, where they could both brush their hand along Lancelot’s arm as they passed him by for encouragement. Arthur looked so handsome that Lancelot’s heart hurt; his hair smoothed off of his brow and held in place by the shining crown, resplendent in a dress cape of thick velvet. Merlin looked like unearthly, incredible, like something untouchable and powerful as he took his place beside Arthur.

“We are gathered here today to celebrate, by the ancient rite of handfasting, the union of Arthur Pendragon and Prince Merlin of Avalon,” Geoffrey began, familiar words. The same words he’d said for every ceremony he’d presided over, the same words that had been said at each Camelot marriage for decades and Lancelot watched carefully to see the way they looked at each other. He knew them both, knew that the quivering corners of Merlin’s mouth were him trying not to smile rather than nervousness, knew that the furrow in Arthur’s brow was focus rather than irritation.

“Is it your wish, Arthur, to become one with this man?” Geoffrey asked, looking to the king, who nodded.

“It is.”

“And is it your wish, Merlin, to become one with this man?” he asked Merlin, whose face, like a dam broke under the onslaught of water, could hold back the smile no longer.

Quietly, he started, “Indeed - ” and then growing louder, loud enough for the whole hall to hear, he said “It is.”

“Do any say nay?” Geoffrey asked, giving the room a sweeping gesture and Lancelot knew that he was holding his breath as much as Arthur and Merlin were, whether or not they were showing it. Geoffrey tied the simple chords around their clasped hands and announced  “With this garland I do tie a knot, and by doing so, bind your hands and hearts for all eternity.”

“They were already bound.” Merlin whispered, and Lancelot loved the way Arthur looked at him then, fond and loving.

“I now pronounce you husband and...well, husband.”

Slowly, they turned to face the kingdom and were met with a rousing round of applause. Merlin fashion flowers made of shining mist for the younger girls in the first row, conjured illusionary dragons the size of small dogs to lap at the heels of their guests as they walked out of the hall to the exit. The feast would come later, Lancelot knew, and he was excited for it.

The room quieted when Arthur stood, raising his glass to the room and quickly, Lancelot and the other knights rose to their feet as well. “I have an announcement to make,” Arthur said, his voice soft thick with drink. “Regarding my husband and our marriage.”

Merlin set down his silverware and turned to Arthur.

“As many of you know,” Arthur said, gesturing with his goblet to his knights, “there was a prophecy that brought Merlin and I together.”

A few nobles in the room nodded; advisors to the king and their families who were privy to the information. The knights, too, nodded their acquiescence.

“It is a heavy thing, this prophecy, and one I wanted to resist at first. But,” his gaze transferred to Merlin, then, smiling. “I’m glad I didn’t.”

“Arthur, I think you might have had a bit too much to drink… “ Merlin cautioned, tugging on Arthur’s sleeve and covering his mouth with his hand. Hiding back laughter, as always. Arthur ignored him and took another drink, draining the goblet. He was nowhere near drunk; had just had enough to loosen his lips and warm his body, make him feel good, as he should.

“There was another mentioned in the prophecy.” Arthur said, and Lancelot jerked his gaze up from where he’d been looking at a crease in the tablecloth to his king, whose beautiful blue eyes felt like they were boring into him, hot and focused. “Another who I intend to remain just as much a part of my life - no, of _our_ lives - as he has ever been.”

Merlin, too, turned to look at Lancelot then, lips curling into a playfully devious smile. “Lancelot,” he breathed, and a shiver went up his spine at the way Merlin said his name, at the way those full lips wrapped around each syllable, like he was reciting a favored poem.

Lancelot shook his head, the tiniest of motions to say _you don’t have to do this_ but Arthur insisted, holding his hand out and inclining his head to the empty chair to his right. Where Lancelot always was during council meetings.

“Come here,” he said, and Lancelot had no choice but to obey. His body didn’t feel like his own as he walked around the table he and his fellow knights had been sitting at, felt like they belonged to someone else and he was merely watching. He felt like a god, one who walked on the tops of clouds and would never come down because at the end of his short walk across the great hall were Arthur and Merlin, were the two people he loved most in this world.

As he walked around the table, Arthur took his hand and, reaching for Merlin’s with the other one, raised them all high. “It’s a bit unconventional, as I’ve stated. But I know Camelot will grow to be the greatest kingdom the world has ever known with myself, Merlin, _and_ Lancelot.”

 _Don’t cry_ , he told himself. _Knights don’t cry in front of their king’s noble guests_. But the tears streamed down his face nonetheless, perfect mirrors to the ones streaking down Merlin’s cheeks.

“Ridiculous,” Arthur said as he sat down, shaking his head with a fond smile. “I appear to be the only one who isn’t _sobbing_.”

“Shut up, Arthur!”

\---

Laying in bed as the late night gave way to early morning,, Arthur’s hand found the small of Merlin’s back as he curled in against him, smoothing over skin still love-flushed.  “I love you,” he whispered into the crown of Merlin’s head, exhaling impatiently as Merlin’s hair tickled his chin.

Merlin returned “I love you” from where his face was mashed against Arthur’s neck, slack and open, still high with pleasure. “My king. My partner.”

Arthur inched up higher on the bed and sat back on the pillows to support himself as he looked around the room. Candles burning low, the barest of spring breezes moving the curtains at the window, the dragon egg that had come as part of Merlin’s dowry sitting on the table, shaking softly.

Wait, that part wasn’t right.

“Merlin,” he said, fingers tapping on Merlin’s hip. “Is the dragon egg supposed to be shaking?”

Merlin sat up in bed so fast the covers went flying and Arthur’s arm was jerked away, his warm body greeted with an unpleasant rush of sudden cold air. Merlin ran over to the table (and Arthur _tried_ very hard not to laugh at his lover running completely naked around his bedchamber, he really did) and retrieved the egg, setting it down on the messy coverlet.

“No, it’s not. Could it be...no. They told me it was fossilized. When the last dragon died, they told me he had been injured too badly for the egg he left to ever be healthy. That’s why they gave it to me, because I helped him as he lay dying.”

Softly, the egg rocked from side to side and Arthur heard Merlin inhale so sharply he was surprised he didn’t choke. The egg was giving off an alarming heat, a warmth that Arthur could feel when it pressed against his leg as it rolled when he sat up, and a tiny crack was descending from the peaked top of the egg down the rounded side. It was...hatching. Somehow, the damn thing was hatching. What next? First a sorcerer not just in Camelot, but on its throne, and now one of the creatures that his father had fought so hard to beat back hatching in his bedroom.

“I have to call it forth,” Merlin said, mostly to himself. Arthur got the distinct impression it wasn’t for his ears, that this was a moment that belonged only to Merlin and his ancient magic. “I remember hearing that. I have to call it forth. I have to name it.”

The sounds Merlin made sounded nothing like his usual voice, and just as Arthur was turning to look at him to demand what in the hell _that_ had been Merlin squeaked out a gasp and Arthur turned his attention again to the egg. There was a tiny, wet-looking white snout poking out of it, huffing hot little breaths that curled like smoke into the air. Merlin scooped up the egg in his hands, supporting it, cradling it gently and looking from the egg to Arthur and back again with the stupidest, _cutest_ expression of wonder he’d ever seen.

“Arthur, it’s...it’s a dragon!” he exclaimed. “A _dragon_. I’ve named him Aithusa. It just seems...fitting. If I remember, it is the word for the sun’s light”

“Well, I hope _Aithusa_ is happy,” Arthur said, watching the dragon’s milky-white membranous wings stretch as it climbed out the shattered egg shards.  “He’s ruined our wedding night.”

“Oh shut up, Arthur. You already did your kingly duty,” Merlin laughed, playfully smacking Arthur as he’d done to him countless times. “Let our son have his time to shine.”

The one who was shining, Arthur thought as the sorcerer cradled Aithusa in his arms and he in turn cradled his husband, was Merlin.

\---

Lancelot woke them up in the morning, having shooed the servants away with a gentle dismissive wave of his hand, a quiet assurance. Gently he knocked on the door, murmured “May I come in?”

Merlin heard Arthur say “Don’t be _stupid_ , Lancelot, get in here.” at the same he said “Please!”

Lancelot crossed the room in a few short strides, looking handsome as sin in the dim morning, still dressed down. Something about the fact that he had clearly rolled out of bed and come straight to them went straight to Merlin’s core, threatened to wake up the desire that he’d thought was sated by Arthur the night before. His shirt was unlaced and Merlin could see his broad chest, the hair covering it, his skin that felt so good so good under his fingertips. Gently, he scooted away from Arthur intending for Lancelot to take a place in the middle but Arthur held him fast, grunting sleepily and Merlin took that to mean _stay_. Lancelot smiled and shook his head, lifting up the blanket and slotting in behind Merlin, back to chest, sliding one hand under Merlin’s pillow to cradle his head and the other around his waist. His arm crossed with Arthur’s as he did and the king blearily opened one eye and smiled.

“It’s good to see you, Lancelot.”

“And you, Arthur. You both look...beautiful.”

Merlin snuggled back against his knight, turning to kiss him before he said “If you’re going to give us compliments, then our son needs one too.” He jerked his foot enough to jostle Aithusa, nudging him awake and the dragon perked up with a little chirp and Lancelot’s eyes widened to the size of the castle’s dinner plates. 

“Merlin,” he all but squeaked. “What is _that_?”

Merlin retrieved his hand from under Arthur’s and held it out to Aithusa. “Here, come here,” he cooed. “This is Lancelot. He’s a good man.” Aithusa yipped like an excited puppy and bounded up the bed to climb on top of Lancelot’s hip and, unfurling his wings, he smiled. Or at least, Merlin thought it was a smile. It stretched his mouth wide and exposed a few teeth, but he was sure it meant happiness. Lancelot looked to him for a nod before he held out his hand to Aithusa, patting the top of his head slowly, gently.

“Will he get much bigger?” Lancelot asked as Aithusa nudged his head into Lancelot’s hand, urging _pet me more_. “I’ve heard dragons are...very large.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.” Aithusa walked across the bed (over Merlin’s face, he was unhappy to report) and settled into a dent on the pillow right above Arthur’s head.

“ _Thank you_ , Aithusa.” Arthur said dryly, rolling his eyes and Merlin beckoned him closer, so that he was sandwiched between the two of them where he wanted to be. Aithusa chirped indignantly and scooted his rear end so it was resting on Arthur’s head again and Merlin could feel the laughter in Lancelot’s chest against his back.

“I can’t believe your wedding night caused a dragon to hatch,” Lancelot murmured, stroking his fingertips over Arthur’s hip, right above where the blanket sat, temptingly alluring. He kissed Merlin’s ear, his temple, brought his hand down to turn Merlin’s face towards him so he could catch his lips in a passionate kiss.

“It’s because he’s our son,” Merlin explained breathlessly when Lancelot pulled away. “He’s your son, too.”

Lancelot laughed even as Arthur said “Shut _up_ , Merlin!”


End file.
